Bad, Very Bad Shifters- The Complete Mega Bundle

by Daniella Wright

  When it does, three humans – yes, human traffickers, the assholes – yank me out of the cage. Two haul me by my arms, the third walks behind us with the cattle prod, and I'm unceremoniously dragged along to the wooden platform where I'm forced to face a crowd of apathetic shifters, all sitting in seats, keenly scrutinizing me as the announcer starts going on about my “luscious red locks, my exotic and alabaster skin marked with the freckling of youth,” and I have to wonder whether I should laugh or cry.

  The man with the cattle prod looks as if he really wants to use it when I discreetly crane my neck to face him, and I mentally prepare myself to grab it.

  I have no control, but I wouldn't mind obtaining a small amount of confidence in a situation where I have no hope of escaping.

  The bids start.

  I'm free to stand, though the guards are nearby to stop any trouble, and I turn to smirk at the cattle prod guy, before holding up my middle finger to him.

  He scowls, steps forward and jabs at me. Instantly, I sidestep, grab the electrical prod by the uncharged handle, step in to kick at his back leg and yank the prod out of his hand. I jab him with it after turning up the ampage, and he spasms, before whirling it to thump at the two guards, who have advanced in to apprehend me.

  The first falls, pole-axed, the other stares at me warily.

  The auctioneer stops momentarily to gape. I hear dissent in the crowd, and see more figures swarming to apprehend me.

  “Look,” I say, my voice loud and clear. “I know I can't escape this. I'm not going to run away. I just wanted to give this asshole a lesson.” My foot nudges the stunned prod holder. “Because fuck him.”

  The auctioneer blinks slightly.

  “And fuck you all, really.” I'm belligerent now, drunk on my temporary position of power. It heightens my senses, makes me more secure in my footing, even if I'm as far from secure as I can be. “I'm no slave.”

  With that in mind, I wave the last guard back, and the others who were clambering onto the stage have also hesitated.

  “So,” I add. “Who wanted to buy me again?”

  It's laughable, when the reaction I get is the opposite of what I expected. Hands fly into the air, and the auctioneer is watching me, before turning back to the crowd, nervously starting to sort out the bids.

  I gape at them.

  One of the shifters even calls, “A strong woman! Who doesn't want a strong woman for their clan?” And this prompts a big flurry of hands and note waving.

  The remaining guard has now dragged off the two companions I've injured. The others have tentatively tried to encircle me, and I stand there as confidently as I can, even though my legs are shaking like jello, and I'm flabbergasted at the sudden enthusiasm.

  I let them take the prod off me, and to my relief, no one tries to punish me. They seem to have gauged the crowd's mood correctly, and leave me alone, except for two replacement guards, who keep a careful distance.

  Well, fuck. That did not turn out the way I expected.

  Chapter Two

  It becomes very clear, very fast, that the people bidding for me are very rich – and using a currency I'm not familiar with. They call the money drots, and though I've heard some of the women selling for around fifty thousand drots, I seem to be heading for the millions. Part of me is flattered by this. I'm high value goods to these people. Something to be desired, to be taken. Not arousing at all. Nope.

  Eventually, it turns into a bidding war between the two dragon shifters, as they've outbid everyone else on the matter. I notice a lot of sullen glances as the shifters aggressively raise the price higher and higher.

  I take the time to discreetly check them out again. Dragon shifter a, the green eyed one, has blond hair and tanned skin, and he was the one complaining about the other shifter, who referred to him as a princeling whore.

  He's handsome enough, I suppose. If I am going to end up a sex slave or whatever it is these people are selling me off for, it might be more bearable if I at least like the look of the person. Not that I particularly want to be a slave or anything, but I can't see myself getting out of this. My brain keeps chasing scenarios, but I know some clans still live far isolated from humans, in hard to access areas, or regions where we'd struggle to survive, like the tundras of Canada. The other one, with the amber eyes, has jet black hair and the hint of stubble upon his noble chin. The amber eyes have a smoldering, hooded look to them, as if he's permanently half asleep, but serve to add to his attractiveness.

  I wonder if I'll scream when I see them shift and become huge, fire breathing dragons the size of houses. Or if they're more the size of horses, or komodo dragons. They've held documentaries on T.V about the types of shifters, but David Attenborough or Bruce Parry never got around to the mythical ones, due to their “elusive and secretive natures.”

  The dragon shifters explode into argument when it's clear that neither plan to give ground on me. I'm almost amused.

  “Well, you could share me,” I say, more to add some silliness to the mood, to put an absurd spin to it to help me cope, “It's not like I'm going anywhere fast.”

  The auctioneer shoots me a warning glance. He's worried I might incite a riot, and for good reason, I suppose.

  However, the dragon shifters fall silent at this. Eventually, the blonde one says, “You know what, that's not the worst idea I've heard.”

  “I'm outbidding you on every turn,” the black haired one snaps. “I won't share.”

  “And I'll keep outbidding you.” The blonde taps his foot. “Look, I know we have our differences, and I know you're still mad at me for cheating on you...”

  Now everyone in the audience turns to gape at these two as they launch into their tirade. The auctioneer as well appears riveted.

  “... but it's been three years, now. And I told you why I did it and everything.”

  “Did you really have to bring it up here? Now? In this place?” The amber eyed one looks ready to spit fire.

  “Well, no. But I wanted to.”

  “Do we have a new bid?” The auctioneer ventures to say. Both shifters tell him to shut up at the same time, and he shrinks behind his podium, utterly baffled.

  “I'll just pay you or you pay me after the bid's done. We'll sort it out between our families. And we'll share.”

  “Unnecessary effort,” the amber one retorts. “It would be far easier to just have a new woman.”

  “But I want to be able to see you again. To be friends again.”

  “You broke that chance when you...” The amber eyed one falls silent.

  “... Broke your heart?” The blonde supplies.

  The amber eyed one says nothing in response.

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  The others in the audience seem to share my sentiment.

  Suddenly, these two shifters look far less like alien entities hell bent on enslaving me and having their wicked way, but more like jilted lovers using me as an opportunity to reforge their friendship.

  I'm really not sure how to react to that. I don't think anyone here does.

  Under a great deal of confusion, and a few more half-hearted attempts of protest from the amber eyed shifter, I'm sold to the blonde for thirty-six million drots, with a promise of the money total being split between them, so they're paying eighteen million each.

  I'm herded off the stage, numb, wondering what sort of crazy land I've just stumbled into.

  Later on, when the auctions finally wrap up, I'm approached by the two shifters and their entourage, other shifters with dragon pendants upon them.

  “Are you going to play nice or are we going to have to drag you with us in chains?” The blonde asks.

  “I'll play nice.”

  The blonde nods. “Great. Thanks for the suggestion, by the way. It was brilliant. I'm Alaric.” The blonde reaches out a calloused hand to grasp mine. I reluctantly take it, deciding antagonizing my captors is not the best way to go about things. His hand is surprisingly warm, sending a pleasant tingle thro
ugh my arm. “The broody one here is called Cael.”

  Cael has his arms folded, clearly regretting the decision he's just made.

  “Am I allowed to ask questions? Because I have a few.”

  “You are. But not now. We need to get going. We can organize how we'll share you later.”

  “One question. Please?”

  Alaric shrugs. “Make it quick.”

  “What's my purpose?”

  Alaric purses his lips, regarding me in interest. My heart beats a little faster, and I silently curse when I note I'm finding him seriously attractive. “We're looking for a suitable woman to be a royal consort and to bear children. Only the most beautiful will do.” Alaric smiles wanly. I notice something about the dragon shifters. All of them are male. “There are no female dragons. And not a whole lot of pretty women who are willing to give up their lives and live in the mountains. So a lot of us resort to black market auctions to get what we need.”

  “Huh.” I should be alarmed at the announcement, but instead I'm intrigued. Against my will. I've just been given a dip into the faint politics of an existence far removed from me. And, well. Royal consort? Prettiest woman?

  Nice coating for the fact that I'm to be a breeding cow.

  “Okay, I have another before you do your thing. How would... sharing me even work?”

  At this, Alaric frowns. “We'll sort that out later. Now, come. Choose one of us to ride. Or be carried in our talons. It doesn't matter to me which.”

  They step back, and I watch in terrified awe as they both transform upon the ledge that juts out over a rather imposing cliff, flattening shrubbery and grass as they do so.

  Alaric resembles a pea green dragon, scales glistening with a cyan sheen in places, and he towers above me in height, easily reaching about ten meters in height. Those talons of his certainly look large enough to grasp me, or crush me. I take several steps back. Cael, on the other hand, resembles a copper colored dragon, slightly bulkier and spikier than Alaric, who is all smooth scales and less pain. I'm not so sure about the idea of sitting on Cael's ridged back, though there looks like some grooves where I could settle into, just behind the drill of his horns that protrude from the back of his skull.

  “I'll, uh, just climb onto Alaric then,” I say. “He's less spiky. I don't think I want to be accidentally impaled.”

  Under the dark glares of what I presume to be the royal guards, I clamber up onto Alaric's back, then instantly decide that maybe I should have considered Cael after all, because the spikes would have locked me in place. The best place I find is just behind Alaric's frilled head, as the horns there are easy to latch onto, and there's a small bump I can just about settle into to. He flaps his wings, and lifts up all four legs off the ground in a massive sweep of wings, which sound like the billow of sails in a strong sea wind.

  I gasp and cling onto the horns that jut out from his head, and duck into the frill to avoid the cold blast of air that whips at me. It's still cold, but not as cold, and my thighs grip onto his serpentine neck, and the world around me spins.

  Gone is the auction area, and I see a flock of shifters transform also into dragons, launching themselves off behind Cael, who beats his enormous wings in the air. I shiver as I cling on, the awesome sight unfolding before me, filling me with deep awe.

  It's magnificent. I mean, it still doesn't change the fact that I'm going to be pimped out to some dragon princes, but it does make me feel better that at least Alaric deigned to explain some things to me, and gave me the choice to do this, rather than lug me about like a sack of potatoes.

  As little control as I do have, there's still some sliver of dignity left that I'm allowed to cling onto. That means a lot to me.

  Of course, I'm going to see what I can do to escape, but I have to first examine the situation, and work out how best to play it to my advantage.

  The sky around me and the world below is a delight. It's similar to being in the window seat of an airplane, except a lot more, uh, visceral, and a hell of a lot more frightening, given I have no safety belt, and if Alaric decides to do a barrel roll in the sky, I'm dropping off and plummeting to a grisly death onto the forests below.

  The awe dies off when the temperature settles in. Alaric flaps at a blistering pace, his wings making loud swoops of noise with every movement, and I notice the scenery below me shifting from grassy plains and cities to snow-choked plains and snow-capped mountains. We're heading north through Canada, at least as fast as a plane, and now I'm starting to wish I could be a lot warmer than how I'm currently wrapped up. When I was kidnapped, it was getting near the evening. Here, it seems to be the launch of a new morning, suggesting I've been out a while before the auction. My stomach gives a growl, as if to confirm.

  The journey continues for a while. I don't think the dragons can speak in their animal/lizard/dinosaur forms, and I highly doubt I'd be able to hear them anyway over the roaring of the wind. Eventually we start losing height, and our destination seems to be a very snowy mountain in the near distance, over icy tundras and isolated villages, towns and cities that can barely be classed as them.

  Although Alaric's scales are warm, like a mini furnace existing just underneath his skin, and they help heat up my extremities, I'm still mostly cold, and I think my cheeks are in danger of falling off my face, even with me pressing them against his scales.

  I notice a small contingent of dragons break off, and they swerve towards a mountain that's parallel to this one. Cael appears to be part of that group, cementing the proof that they belong to different tribes. Different kingdoms, I suppose.

  We land upon Alaric's mountain a short while later, early in the afternoon, and I'm greeted with what I assume is a dragon city.

  It's less a city though in the traditional sense of things, and more like a huge catacomb network of caves where the dragons reside. Each cave mouth has two entrances. A small door for human forms, and a large one for dragon forms. Alaric trots along to a cave with an ornately carved purple symbol on the door, and pushes his weight against it until it swings inward. Then, he continues his awkward, jarring gait, folding his wings close to his sides as he moves through a dim tunnel, before arriving in a cavernous room. I notice the odd contrast of the room. Part of it is human sized, with furniture, drapes, a kitchen unit and other trappings which look almost modern. The other part is clearly for dragon forms, and has a huge hearth, plush cushions and scratching stones, as well as a suspicious collection of charred bones.

  I notice no one has followed us. It's just me and Alaric. I don't know what this means, but it sends a slight pang of foreboding through me.

  I'm already unhappy at the fact we're far too removed from human civilization for me to get in easy contact with them. Not to mention that we're on the top of a fucking mountain, with sheer descents that would likely end with me tumbling to a certain death.

  Alaric shakes himself slightly, and I take it as my cue to slide off, my feet jarring as I hit the stone floor. Alaric's form then constricts into itself, forming into that jovial human form, with green sparkling eyes, blonde sandwashed hair, and tanned skin.

  He examines me critically for a moment, then says, “Well, better get you wrapped up. We'll need to introduce you to my father, and then you'll likely need to be given to Cael's father as well, so they can see the deal we've negotiated.”

  Although he sounds reasonable, I recognize the tone of inflexibility in his voice. If I disobey or protest too much, he probably isn't going to act quite as friendly as he is now. Whatever the case, I'm still here for one reason.

  I've been bought. For them, I'm their property. My mind wanders to my mother and father, who must be confused as to where I am by now. My mom phones me every day just to say hi. This will be the first day I haven't stuck to the pattern. Soon enough, North Carolina might report me missing. They might speculate it's to do with shifters, though they can never be quite so sure.

  A sudden pang of loneliness hits me as I venture into chambers that lo
ok especially prepared for me, with a wardrobe full of thick fur robes, designed to insulate against the cold. There's gloves, thick socks, hats and a face cover as well. In the room next to my sleeping chamber, which is a four poster bed with red drapes over it, actually pretty luxurious looking – I see a room with a bathtub, and intricate piping panning from the walls. Curious, I adjust one of the copper faucets, and water gushes out into the tub, rapidly turning steaming hot, leaving delicious trails of heat into the air. I shiver in involuntary delight.

  I squeak it off, before I hear Alaric's soft voice drift through the cavern. “Wait a moment. Your handmaidens will be with you shortly.”

  Handmaidens? Just as I'm registering what he's said, three women dressed in thick robes filter through the chamber from corridors beyond my chambers – suggesting they're all interconnected.

  All of them bow to me and refer to me as princess. Thoroughly embarrassed, I ask them to not do that, and they act completely horrified at my suggestion.